The Tycoon's Kiss

by Jane Porter

  The man walked past her, took a look at the guardrail and crushed hood, before returning. “That guardrail saved you.”

  “I know.”

  “What happened?”

  “The truck in front of me slammed on its brakes, and I had nowhere to go.”

  “You were following it too closely?”

  “I didn’t even know it was there.”

  He nodded. “It’s bad. Total white out conditions. None of us should be on the road.”

  “I just wanted to get home.”

  “Where were you heading?”

  “Marietta.”

  “That’s where I’m going. Let me give you a ride.”

  Taylor glanced back at his big black SUV with the headlights shining on them. It looked like a new car, and expensive. She gave him the same once-over. He looked expensive, too. Clean cut. Attractive, with black hair, smooth hard jaw, strong, classic features. “Are you safe?” she asked, only half joking.

  “Safer than the storm.”

  “Not sure that’s hugely reassuring.”

  He laughed, the sound deep, warm as well as very confident. “Sorry. Let me introduce myself.” He stuck out a hand and smiled down on her, white teeth glinting, and creases fanning at the corners of his eyes. “I’m Troy Sheenan.”

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  Of course he was, Taylor thought, adjusting the seatbelt across her lap, and then crossing her leg at the knee, trying to make herself comfortable in the big black SUV’s passenger seat.

  And of course it would be Troy Sheenan who’d plucked her from the side of the road, as if he were a gallant knight, instead of an errant knight.

  A playboy.

  A rake.

  It felt satisfying to silently hurl names at him, but it wasn’t helping make her more comfortable. She couldn’t relax. Couldn’t catch her breath.

  It was his fault. Troy Sheenan.

  Taylor’s fingers curled into her palms. She stared blindly out the windshield into the night with the thick swirling snow, her chest tight, aching with bottled air.

  Of all people to stop…

  Of all people to offer to help.

  Why did it have to be him?

  And worse, why couldn’t he be arrogant, and rude, and absolutely despicable? Dislikable? Why did he have to be almost… charming?

  Nice.

  She shuddered inwardly, thinking that he might even be disarmingly nice, if he weren’t, well, so…good looking. Jane hadn’t lied about that. He was…well, exactly what she’d said he was.

  Tall, dark and handsome…black hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, dimples.

  A man with all those attributes couldn’t be nice. Truly handsome men were never nice. They were spoiled, overly confident, insincere. They were accustomed to women falling to their feet and throwing themselves at them, bosoms heaving… and so forth.

  Taylor’s lips compressed and she lifted her chin a fraction.

  She couldn’t place all the blame on handsome men. Women had to accept some responsibility for their behavior. Just because a man was gorgeous and charming it didn’t mean a woman needed to fall for him…

  Taylor would never fall for someone like Troy Sheenan.

  At least, she’d never fall for someone like Troy Sheenan again.

  Back in graduate school she’d fallen for a Mr. Charming, and it had broken her heart and damaged her confidence and self-esteem. She’d vowed to never go down that destructive, confusing path again. And she hadn’t.

  She wouldn’t.

  She pushed up her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, suddenly grateful she’d worn them to work today, feeling protected by the big dark frames and the too-thick-to-be-sexy lenses.

  She wasn’t a plaything, or an intellectual lightweight. Yes, she loved historical romances, and had ever since she’d first read Jane Austen in high school, and then found a Georgette Heyer novel in the local library during her summer vacation. By the time Taylor had graduated with a Masters in Library Science, she’d read everything Heyer wrote (even the mysteries), including a biography just published on the English novelist, and Heyer’s work ethic, intelligence, and drive made an indelible impression on Taylor. If Heyer could support her family with her writing in the 1920’s and 30’s, then Taylor could support her brother with her work.

  Taylor didn’t need a man or husband to provide. Taylor would provide. And she had. Which reminded her, she’d need to call her insurance agent as soon as she reached the house, and a tow truck, and make arrangements for a rental car. She sighed inwardly, disappointed in herself for losing control on the pass. There were a lot of things going on this week. She didn’t need the hassle of being car-less on top of everything else.

  Leaning forward, she reached for her oversized leather satchel at her feet. Taylor didn’t use purses. She loved her messenger-style book bag and she quickly found the satchel’s inner pocket where she kept her phone. Retrieving it, she checked messages but there was no service. They’d get service when they got closer to Marietta and that wouldn’t be long now.

  “You said you were new in town,” Troy said, his deep, low voice breaking the silence.

  She nodded as his dark blue gaze briefly slid over her in the dim light of the car before his gaze returned to the road.

  She exhaled, hard.

  He’d only looked at her for a moment but it was enough to make her insides flip, setting loose a dozen butterflies in her middle. She pressed her phone to her lap, and drew a deep breath to calm the nervous butterflies. “I moved to Marietta at the end of August, right before Labor Day weekend.”

  “What do you think of the place?”

  “I like it.”

  “People nice?”

  She thought of Judge McCorkle and how he’d handled the sentencing of her brother. She thought also of those who’d been so critical towards Jane and her ideas for the Chamber of Commerce. “Most people.”

  He shot her another swift glance. “You’ve met some less than friendly folks?”

  There went the butterflies again. She shifted, uneasy. She didn’t understand it, didn’t understand why he’d make her feel so nervous, but every time he looked at her, every time she met his gaze, her heart raced.

  So strange.

  Men didn’t give her the jitters. And polished, sophisticated men, especially handsome sophisticated men, didn’t appeal to her. She wasn’t a fan of city men, finding them too smooth, too slick. But even in his dark wool trousers and expensive black cashmere V-neck sweater, Troy exuded strength. Toughness. He had a rugged masculinity that was pure Montana.

  Maybe that’s what she was reacting to.

  If so, she needed to stop. She didn’t want to be attracted to Troy Sheenan. And maybe it wasn’t really Troy. Maybe it was the accident. Maybe she was still in shock, shaken from the impact, disoriented from spinning on the ice and slamming into the guardrail. Yes, that was it. The accident. She was still shaken up. Relief rushed through her. Everything made sense now. “Most people have been polite to me,” she said carefully. “But that’s not necessarily true for others. It seems like there are different standards in Marietta. If you are from Marietta, there is one set of rules, and if you’re new to Marietta, there’s another.”

  “Can you give me specifics?”

  “I don’t know that I should. I don’t want to criticize your hometown. Suffice it to say, there are some in the community that view newcomers with suspicion, particularly if they’re suggesting change. But that is probably true for most small towns. I’m from a small Montana town myself, an hour from Scoby. Hopeville—”

  “Hopeville?” he repeated.

  She grimaced. “Has to be ironic. There wasn’t much hope in Hopeville. Our population was less than a thousand and there was no opportunity there, nor much of anything but hard drinking and hard living.”

  “How did you end up in Marietta?”

  “A job,” she said.

  “What do you do?”

  Sh
e primly adjusted her glasses. “I’m a librarian.”

  “You are?”

  She heard the note of surprise in his voice, as well as a measure of respect. “I’ve been hired to take over as head librarian when Margaret Houghton retires in June,” she added, feeling a small bubble of warmth. She was proud of her position. She loved her work as a librarian and Marietta’s graceful, historic building deserved excellent, modern programs, programs Taylor was determined to implement as soon as she took over.

  He shot her a quick, assessing glance. “Impressive.”

  Taylor’s insides felt fluttery all over again. She shouldn’t care what he thought. But apparently some part of her—some ridiculous, weak part of her—did.

  Annoyed with herself, Taylor stared out her passenger window, noting how the delicate icy flakes stuck to the glass and wondering how she could bring up Jane without making it awkward.

  It might not be possible as just sitting next to Troy was making her feel hopelessly awkward.

  Even now her pulse raced and her mouth tasted cotton dry, so she gave up trying to figure out how to introduce the subject of Jane Weiss and focused instead on the snow.

  It was beautiful, all those thick, whirling, white flakes. Taylor loved the snow and didn’t mind the long winters provided she didn’t have to do a lot of driving on mountain passes during storms. Thank goodness Troy Sheenan was comfortable behind the wheel. It was obvious he’d grown up driving in snow and ice, too.

  “Have family in Marietta?” he asked, a few minutes later.

  She pictured her brother, remembering how they’d moved to Marietta together, or how he’d moved with her after she’d gotten hired by the library. Doug was able to get a job, too, as an apprentice to a Marietta electrician but within weeks of arriving in Marietta, he got in trouble and it’d been difficult ever since.

  “Not in town, but in Paradise Valley,” Taylor said. “My little brother lives—” she broke off, frowning, uncertain how to explain Doug’s situation. She was protective of her brother’s illness. Not everyone understood depression and mood disorders. Not everyone wanted to understand. Her own parents had thought his diagnosis was a cop-out. More than once Dad had ripped into Doug for being weak and undisciplined. He just couldn’t accept that the depression was anything but laziness and selfishness. She gave her head a small shake, shaking away the memory of all the horrible things her parents had said to Doug when he began to struggle in middle school.

  She felt, rather than saw, Troy glance at her.

  Taylor swallowed and squared her shoulders. “–out there, in Paradise Valley.”

  “I was raised in Paradise Valley. That’s where our family ranch is,” Troy said.

  Jane had told her about the big Sheenan spread in Paradise Valley, one of the larger ranches in the area, and it bordered the Carrigan property, the other big ranch. Taylor knew Sage Carrigan as Sage was on the Great Wedding Giveaway committee, and was donating all the chocolates and truffles for Friday’s Valentine Ball.

  The ball.

  Right.

  Taylor prayed Troy had no idea that she was the one Jane had volunteered to be his date. But then, Taylor doubted Troy had a clue. Men listened to women as little as possible. “Beautiful land,” she said.

  “Your brother’s a cowboy?” Troy asked.

  “He’s… working on a ranch now, yes,” Taylor answered, thinking this was exactly what she didn’t want to discuss. She was so private about Doug’s situation, and so protective of him. He’d been doing better in the year before they moved here, and they’d both been excited about going to Marietta. It had seemed like a great opportunity for both of them, but Doug couldn’t find a job right away, and even though he had time on his hands, he wasn’t able to make new friends. Within weeks his depression returned. Taylor had been making calls to psychiatrists in Bozeman at the time Doug was arrested. Sentencing him to a halfway house/rehab ranch wasn’t the solution. Doug needed counseling, treatment. Medical care. But the judge didn’t listen. The judge thought he knew best. He was a man, after all. He claimed he knew what a young man needed. Work. Discipline. An attitude adjustment.

  The very same things Taylor’s father had said.

  It made her furious. And heartsick. Because both men were wrong. And Doug—as well as thousands of young men and women—continued to struggle and suffer because people were ignorant about mood disorders.

  “You sound unsure,” Troy said.

  Her lips pursed. Troy was perceptive. She had to be careful what she told him, determined to protect Doug as much as possible. “The ranch life is new to him,” she said after a slight hesitation. “It’s an adjustment.”

  “Ranching is hard work.”

  True, and Doug was never supposed to be a ranch hand. He’d gone to school to be an electrician. He was smart and good with his hands, and was very patient with complicated things. He could succeed. He just needed support. He needed someone to give him a chance. But people didn’t want to hire young adults with problems. Taylor was discovering that too many people didn’t want to be troubled by other people’s problems, which made her worry about the future. She worried about Doug being able to have the future he wanted and deserved.

  “The physical work isn’t the issue,” she said after a moment, picking her words carefully, not sure if Troy was friends with the owners of Hogue Ranch. In a small town, you could never be too careful. “It’s the… environment. It’s not the best place for him.”

  “What would be better for him?”

  “He wanted to be an electrician. He took all the courses and passed all these tests. He just needs to be given a chance, an apprenticeship. And it’ll happen. It will.”

  “So the ranch is just a stepping stone to the next job,” Troy said.

  “Yes.” She smiled, wanting to believe it. Needing to believe it. She loved Doug dearly. It had about killed her going away to college and leaving her younger brother behind with parents who refused to understand not just who Doug was, but what he needed. “That’s right.”

  They lapsed again into silence but this time neither of them tried to fill it.

  Troy’s powerful four wheel drive made quick work of the mountain pass.

  “Almost there,” Troy said a little bit later, putting on his turn signal, as they approached the exit for Marietta. It was still snowing, but the flurries were lighter and the snow plows had been working all evening, keeping the city roads clear. “Which part of town do you live?”

  “Near downtown, ten blocks north of the library on Bramble Lane.”

  “Know that street well. I had a girlfriend in high school that lived on Bramble,” he said, smiling crookedly, “and one of my best friends, Mason Jones, lived there, too.”

  “I’m renting a room from the Jones’.”

  “Then I know right where to go.”

  Minutes later he was pulling up in front of the one and a half story Victorian home, the pale yellow paint contrasted with lots of creamy white trim, and snow. Mounds of snow. The snow clung to the big evergreen in the corner of the yard and blanketed the shrubs and hedges lining the front walk.

  “So his parents rented you a room,” Troy said, shifting into park.

  “His sister, Kara, did. She bought the house from her parents when they wanted to move to Florida.”

  “Kara was just a pipsqueak when I knew her.”

  “She’s not a pipsqueak anymore.” Taylor leaned forward and reached for her leather satchel. “She’s a Crawford County district attorney.”

  “Is she, really?” Troy grinned. “Good for her. Tell her hello from me. Not sure she’ll remember me—”

  “She remembers you.” Taylor couldn’t forget how Kara had positively gushed when talking to Jane about the Sheenan brothers during the Chamber’s Christmas party. Apparently Jane wasn’t the only Troy Sheenan fan in Marietta. “And I’ll tell her hello,” she added, reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Glad I could help. And if y
ou need help tomorrow—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, opening the door to slide out of the car. She swiftly shouldered her bag and shuddered at the blast of cold air.

  “You never did tell me your name,” Troy called to her.

  Taylor tugged on her scarf, and forced a smile. “Taylor. Taylor Harris.”

  He laughed softly. “I thought so.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded, his expression amused. “Jane told me all about you.”

  Taylor suddenly couldn’t breathe. “She did?”

  “You’re my date Friday night.”

  Troy saw Taylor Harris’s eyes widen and her lips part in surprise for a split second before her mouth shut.

  She managed a few words, mostly incomprehensible words and then raced up the walkway to the Jones’ front door. He stayed put, waiting for her to unlock the door. Once she was safely inside, he shifted into drive and pulled away.

  So that was Taylor Harris, the new librarian.

  Interesting.

  He’d known Jane had set him up with Marietta’s new librarian, but he hadn’t expected Taylor Harris to be such a fiery, prickly little thing, nor had he expected her enormous tortoise frame glasses. The glasses practically covered her face.

  Troy wondered why Jane would set him up with Taylor for the ball.

  Troy did like smart women, but Taylor Harris wasn’t anything like the women he dated. He preferred urban sophisticates, women that were very ambitious and successful… lawyers, doctors, executives, entrepreneurs. Ever since graduating from college, he’d been drawn to women who had big careers and big lives, women who didn’t depend on a man and knew how to take care of themselves. Women who preferred to take care of themselves. Independence was sexy. Intelligence and passion was sexy.

  But the ball was just one night, he told himself. And Jane insisted that he needed a date, as it wouldn’t be proper to attend a black-tie ball at his own hotel without someone gorgeous on his arm.

  Troy’s brow furrowed as he pictured the petite brunette who’d sat in his passenger seat staring out the window.